<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Broken Bowl by NotATorontonian (TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546466">Broken Bowl</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns/pseuds/NotATorontonian'>NotATorontonian (TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Life with Derek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Divorce, F/M, POV Second Person, Unsub | Unknown Subject</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:34:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns/pseuds/NotATorontonian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you even still love me?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Broken Bowl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a chilly night in mid-Autumn. Your Torontonian suburb was quiet, as usual, since all the husbands on the street already returned home, like did yours. It was rare for yours to return. He worked away, and slept in hotels six days out of seven.</p><p>You missed his body heat at night sometimes. You felt so lonely, so lonely for so long. Was it never going to get easier? Would she ever grow accustomed to it?</p><p>The house was also quiet, disturbingly so. You had no children, no pets, no friends or family. It was just the two of you. Usually just you. You lived on a realm of silence, and you do not know whether you liked it.</p><p>You were washing the dishes by hand when he told you. The remains of the fancy ceramic bowl laid untouched on the tiled floor.</p><p>He stood with his strong back to you, staring out of the kitchen window in the house you shared together. He stared out to the ever green, wet forestry that surrounded them like in a living wall.</p><p>Your glare hit between his shoulder blades as you pressed your lips together in an attempt to stop a sob leaving your lips as tears ran down your cheeks. “Do you even still love me?”</p><p>The question hung in the air for a moment and you saw him flinch a little. You gripped the back of the wooden chair beside you with one hand as the other furiously wiped the tears away.</p><p>Derek sighed quietly, and as he turned around you saw his eyes were red and partially swollen, as if he had been crying as well. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to reply, before closing it again.</p><p>The silence was enough of an answer as you shook your head at him. “You love her, though? Right?”</p><p>Again, there was a silence as he stared at you pleadingly. His hands reached out as if he wanted to bring you into a hug before he stopped himself.</p><p>He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and spoke, his voice coming out broken and scratchy. “I do. I love her.”</p><p>You nodded, the pain in your chest growing and closing her throat. You noticed things had been different for a while but it did not make it any easier. Not when your husband of over half a decade had just admitted he loved someone else, and, more importantly, implied he did not love you anymore.</p><p>“When did you start loving her?” You whispered, your lip trembling as you huddled further into your sweater, your hands clenching as your nails dug into the palms of your hands.</p><p>“The truth?” Derek asked hesitantly, swallowing harshly. You nodded and he took a deep, shaky breath and looked at you, sorrow written in his eyes. “When I met her.”</p><p>“That would mean you never loved me.” You concluded.</p><p>He did not respond.</p><p>“Why did you marry me, Derek? Why did you pursue me?” You ask, knowing full well he would not answer those either. It did not matter, you knew why.</p><p>You said no. It was a distraction for long enough so he would forget her for long enough to catch a breath. To feel normal. You accepted for that same reason, even if you came to love him, even if you loved him just a little bit.</p><p>You felt your heart break at that, only bringing yourself to nod as you stared at the floor. Silence took over the room again before you finally spoke.</p><p>“I’ll be gone by the morning.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>